


Faeries are assholes - except when they help.

by AteanaLenn



Series: The (maybe) forever WIPs [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Child Abuse, Faeries - Freeform, Full Shift Werewolves, Gen, Not Beta Read, Self-Indulgent, probably a WIP forever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 03:26:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11912223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AteanaLenn/pseuds/AteanaLenn
Summary: Stiles is a little boy with a healthy imagination, adults think.Stiles is a little boy whose only friends are faeries, because human sucks.Peter is half human half creature, and too much of one and not enough of the other.Together, they cuddle and have adventures, because who else can they count on?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a frenzy of Nanowrimo (2016). So far, I have 20k written and the story already veered off twice from what I first imagined ^^;;; I don't know if I'll ever finish it, because it was mostly a self-indulgent thing and I just needed to get it out.

When Stiles is five, he finds faeries in the backyard. His father smiles, laughs, and pats him on the head, when Stiles tells him. His mom smiles and comes out to introduce herself. That's the day when Stiles learns that most people won't listen to the truth, if it doesn't fit in their world view. A few years later, he gets confirmation that it applies to mostly everything.

The faeries are friendly. Stiles will learn later that they are mostly cynical assholes to adult people, but even faeries don't really play bad jokes on innocent, unknowing children. So he plays with them, a lot. He doesn't really have human friends. People find him weird and tiring and Stiles is always talking about his 'make-believe' friends -no matter how much he tells them that they aren't make believe, none of them listen-. So he stays in a corner and writes down the stories he heard from the faeries and imagines new ones with those ideas.

When Stiles is nine, he knows more about the supernatural 'creatures' than he knows about publicly known animals. He's still writing his silly magical adventures. The faeries love them, even. His mother loved them too, before. But after the third time she hit him, Stiles learned to stay out of her way and stop trying to include her in his activities.

His dad doesn't believe him, again, when he tells about his mother. Once upon a time, the faeries would have stolen Stiles and taken him far away. But times have changed, and faeries and the supernatural world aren't any more static than the human world. Human faerie stories have stayed the same, from what rumors and legend they'd had, barely twisting those legends a bit and never getting to update them. The fae world though, has had to adapt to the growing expansion of humans. They're everywhere and in everything, and Hunters only need hints of wrongdoing to take offense and raze full supernatural communities. So they step back and stop stealing hurt children.

Stiles doesn’t mind too much. His dad is always away anyway, always working. His mom drifts from one room to the other now, rarely stopping for much. Stiles stays outside, slips through the back and across the garden and into the woods, and he's free. Nobody looks for him and the faeries are always waiting for him. They take care of him, mending his clothes when they start to fray at the edge because no one thinks about buying new ones, lengthening them when he starts to grow too tall, feeding him and teaching him more supernatural knowledge and helping him with his human homework. They're knowledgeable, the faeries. They say it's because they're long lived and curious as hell. Stiles thinks it's because they're awesome.

One day, she hits him so much that the faeries have to heal him, because they're worried for his fragile human body. Stiles cries a lot. They're small and spindly, and not very cuddle-friendly. Stiles really wants to snuggle against someone and get cuddled for hours. Then his dad comes home and Stiles confesses that his mom hit him really bad. His dad screams and rages and shakes him, screaming about how he's going to be taken away, if he keeps telling lies like that. Something breaks inside of Stiles. He has no proof, because he has no superficial bruises left, even if he aches inside. He cries and cries and cries. He hides away in his room, while his mom simpers to his dad about what a difficult child Stiles is, how she can never keep him quiet and in one place, about how she worries about how she will keep up with him when he becomes older. She smirks at him, from behind the Deputy's shoulder, where she's hiding her face.

Three days later, when he makes it to the forest for the first time since  _ that event _ , he's covered in bruises under his clothes. She says she's learned, she looked it up, how to hide it, and how to make sure that she can continue to punish him for his bad soul. Sometimes he screams at her and she looks frightened. So Stiles screams a lot, when he's home. The neighbors glare a lot, too. At school, the children are taught to stay away from him. It's fine by Stiles, all they do anyway is to hurt him. So he sits near the teachers, with books in his lap, and studies while the others play. Some of the teachers call him unnatural. Others say that all his studying is evidence that he's going to be a mastermind criminal. Stiles keeps his head down and goes home to the faeries with questions about the things he hasn't understood in today's reading.

This is a turning point. One of the faeries’ talent, especially useful to find hurt children, is to read their souls.

When Stiles turns up, days later, so hurt and terrified that the faeries can see his soul turn ashen before their eyes, they decide that this is too much. Fuck hiding from the Hunters.

They heal Stiles and bundle him away in a corner of their home, surrounded by the softest moss and fragrant plants, cuddled by squirrels and furry little spiders. 

It's not what he needs, they know. Humans have very different needs from fae, but it's what they have. So they use what's available, and they send for what they miss.

What they need is a two leg. A furry one preferably, for good cuddles. Also, one who knows about the supernatural world, obviously. 

It's easier than it could have been. There is a pack of werewolves living close. Most won't fit. They're cuddly and magical creatures, but they're still too human. They've embraced their humanness so much that they barely hear their wolf and they either don't believe in other supernatural creatures, or startle so bad when they meet some. They won't do, to take care of the faeries' precious little spark. But there's one.

He's a werewolf, but he's aware enough that he's a wolf too. He listens to his beast and lets his instinct guides him. He doesn't really fit with his pack as a result. The fae can feel his pack bonds when they're close. Always so fragile and ready to snap or be snapped. He's always wary, always ready to defend himself, and as a result -or is it because of this?-, his pack is wary too and watching (monitoring, really) him closely.

He would be perfect for their human little spark.

The faerie flies, running and jumping through the forest, faster and faster, all the way to the human dwelling that the wolves inhabit. They won't get too close, because they aren't welcome. There are wards, to keep away supernatural creatures. And the Alpha wouldn't like their presence, because she'd rather they live their quiet human like lives, instead.

It's four hours, before the wolf shows up. He looks stressed, frowning while he's alone. The faeries wait for him to get to the edge of the property, and when he's ready to shift and run, they jump in, surrounding him and freezing him in place, with their weird, cold feeling magic. He doesn't even scream, or howl, or whisper. He just stares at them and wait.

"You aren't going to try to escape us?" They ask after a long moment of silence, because they like to unsettle human like creatures. 

The silence itself usually does the work, because they don't wait like human, a couple of seconds or a few minutes. They wait like supernatural creatures with an extended life span. They wait half an hour, maybe an hour, maybe more. They don't feel the passage of time like human creatures, they don't even really use it as an intimidation technique, because most of the time they don't think about it as something unsettling. Time just is and if they lose two hours waiting, well, what does it matter, they have centuries of time available. Also, they wait without movement, because they're  _ waiting _ . It would be impolite to react any other way, wouldn't it? If you're waiting for an answer or an object, then how are you supposed to show your respect to the person, if you're moving around like you aren’t paying attention?

The wolf takes a long time, by human standards, to answer, they think. It pleases them, because it means that he  _ thinks _  before he talks, which is something a lot of humans don't do. Even their little Stiles, mostly just say what goes through his mind. The good thing is that he thinks interesting stuff, so they don't mind.

"It wouldn't help me, would it? It's not like I can escape you. Have I done something to anger you? I cannot think of anything."

"No, you did not," one of them says.

Another continues. "We are in need of your fur," they say, because faeries aren't that unknowledgeable of how human thinks and they definitely know how wolves feel about threats to their fur, and they're assholes.

Predictably, the wolf rears back. It grows fur on its face, and wicked claws, which could eviscerate one faerie in seconds, if it got close enough. It backs away, as far as it can, in the locked up circle.

"The little one is waiting," one scolds the other.

They look somewhat abash. Maybe. If you squint.

The wolf stops growling, but stays half shifted.

"There is a little one," yet another tells the wolf. "His sadness is too much for us and we cannot act against humans because we must keep in line."

They all look darkly ugly suddenly, shifting in forms and colors that shouldn't fit in this world, colors that shouldn't exists, it feels a bit like looking straight at the sun while being slowly attract by a black hole, different pieces of the body not at the same time.

The wolf looks surprised. Probably because faeries aren't known for  _ helping _ . They built their reputation on jokes and dirty tricks and hurting others. 

The faeries aren't inherently evil. 

But they have a lot of power. And it’s a very human failing that, when people are made aware that another has power, then they’d rather just let them deal with everything. Or they ask for help, for bargains, for miracles. When people get what they want, they want more. When they don't get what they want, they scream and attack and hurt. So the faeries learned how to discourage them from asking and from coming close. If they have a reputation of playing dirty tricks that always turn against the person's advantage, then it's all the better for them, since neither humans nor supernaturals are tempted to get hurt.

"A faerie too?"

"No, a human," one is impatient. "He's a little boy and he's hurt and he's ours, but we can't take him away because the Queen doesn't want to have to deal with Hunters again, they're boring, but persistent. So we can't take him without a very good reason and he isn't in mortal danger. But he needs comfort and we want him happy, but he's human and we are Fae. He has needs that we cannot fulfill. You have the body and the fur and you can cuddle and soothe and take care, and you can act in the human world. We want you to come."

"So, when you say that you want my fur, what you mean is that you want me to shift so I can snuggle against this little boy with my fur." The wolf sounds amused, now.

The faeries would get angry, but they know that cuddles work better when the people are happy. So if the wolf is amused, he'll cuddle better. The little one will feel better too and the faeries will get more happy stories from the little one's writings.

"Yes, you shift and follow and hold him against your fur. You come now." They are all impatient now.

"Lead the way," the wolf agrees, because he's intelligent enough that he knows that he can't refuse anyway.

***

The little one likes the fur. He smells scared, at first. Because the wolf as a wolf is big and bulky and his claws and teeth are even more wicked.

But the wolf knows how to get close to scared puppies. He drops to the floor and looks up at the boy for a moment, tail gently wagging. When the boy relaxes, he moves forward slowly, until his nose bumps against the boy's shoes. The little one looks up at the faeries, smelling scared again, but when the faeries don't try to intervene, he looks back down at the wolf. Then he extends his hand and hesitantly put it on the wolf's head. When it doesn't react more, he starts petting the wolf.

The wolf likes that. The little one smells nice, like forest and magic and earth. It's not very human like, but it's not sharp and harsh like the faeries. The wolf likes that very, very much.

So it moves forward, creeping slowly so as not to spook the little human who's friend with faeries.

Within a few minutes, the wolf is half lying in the boy's lap, his heavy bulk almost crushing the boy. The boy doesn't mind. He smells of wonder now, babbling so fast in the wolf's ears that the wolf doesn't pay attention. The wolf is more concerned with the petting hands, stretching hard and then curling tight around the little body. They share warmth and cuddle; gentle hugs from the boy, nuzzles and licks from the wolf.

The little boy ends up falling asleep on the great beast. He's comfortable and happy and safe.

The faeries are happy too. They have found what was needed for their little human friend. It's not always easy, to fulfill his needs, but they did it. They eye the wolf and make plans about how to get him to come back.

The wolf eyes them back, because he can hear them and he knows to be worried about their scheming. But he stays in the boy's lap, instead of fleeing as fast as it can. Somehow, this boy has ensnared the wolf part of his psyche, and he doesn't want to let go, ever. He wants to protect and provide. He wants a pack bond and he wants the love and fun of having someone who trusts you unconditionally. The wolf knows he should have this with his family, but it's complicated. He is brother but son, he is uncle but brother, he is enforcer but dangerous. He confuses them when they're not thinking about it, and worries them when they do. This boy, though... This boy is cub and protect, to warm and to love, to protect and cherish. There's no contradiction. He's not his own, but he could be, because he's human but his family isn't important, and the faeries will back up the wolf and the Alpha won't go against faeries.

***

When Stiles wakes up, he has a mouthful of fur tickling his nose and palate.

The faeries are there, but busy to their own things. And there's a wolf curled up around him. A full grown, huge-ass wolf. It's dark-ish gray, sometimes brown depending on the light. Stiles wonders what its coat would look like under the rays of the sun. Under the protection of the forest's trees, in the magical part, in the faeries' kingdom, the wolf looks dangerous and strong.

Then the wolf wakes up and looks up at Stiles. Its eyes are blue. He wasn't expecting that.

The wolf snuffles at Stiles, then stretches. First the front legs, then the back, each after the other, then everything together. And it yawns. Its maw is huge and frightening, with teeth as long as Stiles' hand, and a dark red tongue uncurling. Then he settles back down, like a sphinx. It's not crushing Stiles, weirdly. The beast is twice as heavy as Stiles, at best, but it's careful too. Stiles legs are stretched halfway under its belly, just after the beast's front leg, just where the beast wouldn't weigh too heavily on him.

That's all he has time to notice, before that long tongue stretches over Stiles face and licks him from chin to forehead.

"Ew!" He cries out before he can think better, pushing away the beast’s face with both hands.

He would swear that it's laughing at him. Actually, scratch that. They're in faerie land, where the trees talk together in an incomprehensible language, like Ents, and where Stiles has tiny, flying friends, who sort of look human-like but are beast-like, and act completely other-like. Of course, the damn uber wolf is absolutely mocking him.

"Move off, flea bag," he mutters, annoyed. He doesn't like being made fun of. He gets enough of it in human school; he was supposed to be safe from it in the faerie realm.

The wolf doesn't move. At least, not really. It sits up, and looks down at Stiles for a moment. Then it huffs and leans forward.

Stiles heart almost rabbits right out of his chest, but he quickly calms down. The wolf only puts its head on his shoulder, nudging his cheek a few times with his cold nose. It's looking at Stiles with big, oh so blue and expressive eyes. Stiles would almost think that it's apologizing. Nobody apologize to him, though, because it's always his fault. He tells as much to the wolf.

The wolf sits right back up and growls at the bark behind Stiles for a second, before looking back down. Stiles doesn't worry, this time.

Then the wolf stretches and contorts and rumbles and eventually howls. Stiles doesn't have time to get scared, because he hears giggles behind them.

There are a couple of faeries, floating above a tree branch to their right. They're staring down and whispering together. One still has its finger pointed at the wolf.

The wolf twists a few times more, almost convulsing, and then lies over Stiles' legs in a heap. Stiles winces, but doesn't pushed it away. He pets its panting muzzle, murmuring nonsense -'there, there, they're done, I'm sure you're alright, don't know what they did, though'- and scratching behind the beast's ears. From the way it's turning his head in Stiles' hand, he would say that it likes the scritches.

"So, what did you do?" He asks to the faeries, eventually. It's best to wait. Sometimes, they want to boast. You just need to learn how long to wait, and when you should ask before they get offended at not being asked. It's a bit convoluted.

"Little wolf was beast and little boy was human," one sing-songs. "Can't change little human because of stupid edicts, but nobody cares about werewolves."

"Holy crap," Stiles gasps. "Did you turn it into an actual  _ werewolf _ ?"

"No no no, it was already wolf and human, but it's always one or the other and even when it's not, it's not enough for little boy."

Yes, faeries are confusing. Stiles has learned to understand them, mostly, but it's not one hundred percent foolproof, especially when he doesn't have context to help.

The wolf huffs and pushes itself up. It clears its throat. Then it speaks.

"What they mean is that I  _ am _  a werewolf, originally. Which means that most of the time I look fully human. I also have a Beta form, in which my hair grows a bit into fur, in places, and I have fangs and claws. But I'm still mostly in human form. The strength stays the same as human and beta. Some werewolves can turn into actual wolves. Very few, actually. One needs to be very in tune with our wolf and wild side, in order to fully shift." It -he?- glances at the faeries, half glaring. "And apparently, I am now the first wolf with the ability to speak human, even though I don't have human vocal cords."

"Ooooooh," Stiles breathes out, eyes wide open in wonder. "I remember, I read about werewolves. I didn't know there were any in the faerie land."

"There aren't," the wolf says, nuzzling Stiles face gently. "They came to look for me, and asked me to follow them. They asked me to become your companion and friend."

Stiles deflates. "Oh. I'm sorry." He has to take a deep breath, to stop the tears. "You can go. You don't have to stay."

The wolf licks his cheeks again, like he would lick away tears. Stiles supposes that he might smell them? Wolves have a better nose than humans, so werewolves probably do too. He knows that they are stronger than regular humans, but there's not much in faerie books about wolves. They're mostly looked down upon, since they insist on integrating with humans.

"My name is Peter," the wolf says. "And the faeries may have brought me here, but I decided to stay from my own volition. My wolf is protective of you. I would like to get to know you," Peter says.

Stiles looks up in wonder. "Really?"

"Yes, really." Peter settles around Stiles again. This time, he's curled up behind Stiles' back, so large that while Stiles is leaning back in the vee of Peter's body and his back legs, Peter can fully face him, just by turning his body a bit.

Stiles snuggles down into the werewolf's fur. It's so soft and warm against his cheek.

"Why would you?" He asks softly. "Most humans don't like me."

"I don't know. But most humans don't like me either. Even my pack doesn't really, because I'm too wild and they're too invested in being as human as they can. So maybe we fit together, since we're both one thing but too much of another."

"Okay," Stiles answers. It sounds a bit complicated, but he understands the basics. They don't fit in their 'real life' groups, either of them. They don't really fit with the faeries either, Stiles is aware. But maybe they can fit together and that's why the faeries went to look for Peter. Maybe Stiles can have a real, caring family, and maybe Peter can have a real, caring pack.

He decides to give it a shot, because he wants that too. And the faeries are fun and they know so much, but they can't always understand Stiles. They're too  _ other _ .

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faerie land is weird, really.

Stiles falls back asleep on Peter. His fur is so soft. And Stiles is so tired. And he still hurts from his mother's- (no)

Time goes by differently in the faerie realm. It slows down, passing by like molasses, heavy and unhurried. The first few times, Stiles had been so worried that he would lose track and end up staying too long. There's no clock here, and even if there were, it wouldn't line up with human time zones. In the end, the faeries had made a new ward engulfing their realm, because it was useful for them, and because Stiles didn't smell the sour scent of panic anymore, when he panicked and wondered if he'd lost track. The alarm resounded a few times, pulsing slowly, to call Stiles back to the human realm, to tell him that it was time to go home. And then it sort of vibrated through the realm, until Stiles moved out, so that the faeries would know that he'd heard the call and been gone. He'd been asleep a few times, early on.

***

Stiles wakes up, an undefined time later. It's twilight in the realm, but that doesn't matter either. Because the realm is on Earth, and yet it's not.

Here, twilight is purplish and sometimes poisonous green. Twilight happens when enough faeries wish for it, because they want to see the beautiful lights, or because they need to work on something that uses twilight lights. Sometimes it's full dark too. 'Middle of the night, deepest of black' dark. Stiles doesn't really like those. He can't see anything and usually they stick a few light globes around him when it happens, but sometimes they forget too. 'Black hole' dark is scary as fuck. It doesn't happen often, though. Faeries like pretty things and pretty lights.

This twilight is brown-ish, for once. With gray shots through in patches, and pinpricks of blue here and there. Stiles smiles. This will be the Wolf Twilight from now on, he thinks he's going to call it.

"Did you sleep well?" Peter asks, his deep voice rumbling through his chest under Stiles' ear. It feels funny. He likes it.

"Yes, really well."

"You looked like you needed it."

"I don't sleep much in the human realm," Stiles confesses.

Peter looks down at him, gaze sharp and knowing. "The faeries said that you needed protection but that they couldn't get involved, because it was human stuff."

Stiles twirls some of Peter's fur.

"Tell me, little boy. I would know to help you."

"Oh, I didn't tell you my name!" Stiles realizes.

"Hush," Peter replies quickly, one paw slapping over Stiles' belly. "Names have power, little boy, especially in the faerie realm. Be careful what you say."

"But they already know my name. And you told me yours earlier."

"Only my first name. I didn't give you my full name. There's a reason why people give their children a first name, a last name, and several middle names that don't seem to have any meaning or use."

"Isn't it to celebrate some family member or important people?"

"Maybe these days, among human population. Others, those close to the supernatural, still know better than giving away their full, complete name."

"But I can give you my first name?"

"Yes, go ahead."

"Then, my name is Stiles!"

Peter's eyebrows rise up, which makes Stiles crack up because the wolf body isn't made for those movements.

"Stiles? This is a very unusual name."

"It's not really my name," he confides. "But my real name is so complicated, most people can't say it. I got tired of the teachers stuttering and the children calling me names or by my last name at best, because they couldn't. So I use Stiles. Mom said it was best, because- oh!"

"What, baby boy?"

"My mom! She knew about faeries, before..." He trails away, then shakes himself. "Do you think she choose a complicated name because it would be more protection?"

"Very probably." Peter looks down, curious. "Before what, my Stiles?"

Stiles purses his lips. Peter doesn't like the sour smell that rises up from the boy. He sits up a bit, so that Stiles slides to the ground. Then he shuffles closer and throws a leg over his pack-mate.

"Tell me-" he starts gently.

But Stiles winces and pushes him away and he scrambles up, worried.

"What? I didn't hurt you, I was careful," he says almost desperately.

"I hurt..." Stiles doesn't want to explain.

"You do? Where? Never mind," the wolf huffs and lies back down, a lot more cautiously this time. He puts a paw on a visible part of Stiles' skin.

The boy immediately gasps.

"Wha- What are you doing?" He looks up in wonder, as the pain slowly goes away. The faeries can heal superficially, but they don't really know how human bodies work. So Stiles always ends up sore and hurting deep under, where the bruises linger.

"Taking away your pain. Why didn't you tell me that you were hurt? And why are you hurt?"

"I... didn't think that it was important."

Peter growls. "Your well-being is always important. I want to know when you aren't feeling well, because I want to help."

"Alright, okay." Stiles snuggles down.

They cuddle for awhile in silence, before Peter nudges him gently.

"So, why are you hurt?"

"My mom... isn't right anymore," Stiles eventually confesses. Then the dam breaks and he just blurts everything out. "My dad won't believe me when I tell him that she hurts me, because the faeries always heal the visible parts, and he's never believed me when I talk about the faeries. Nobody believes me. They think I'm crazy, and to get away from Mom, I have to scream and make big gesture, so she scares away, but everyone in the street thinks I'm a monster, and Mom keeps complaining to Dad about how she can't handle me and I'm dangerous and she's not going to feel safe when I grow up. Dad... he believes everything," Stiles finishes in a hushed voice.

"Then we'll have to make sure that he understands the truth," Peter declares after a long silence.

"But, how?"

"You forget that you have an ally in the human world, now. I won't turn now, because I'm always naked under my fur." Peter playfully leers at Stiles, maw open wide and tongue lolling out for a second. "But when we go back, I'll go with you and I'll make the man understand. Even if he needs it videotaped, to finally face the truth."

Stiles feels the tears sliding down his face, before he realizes that he's crying. Then he buries his face in Peter's fur and cries for hours.

***

It's a good thing that Stiles falls asleep, Peter thinks. Because he wants to rage and scream, but he can't. It doesn't stop his eyes from burning with the light of rage and his fur to rise up on his back. How dare those humans, to raise their hands against a little boy, who wouldn't even reach Peter's waist in his human skin. He's going to make it right, he's going to make them understand, even if he has to camp into Stiles' room to make sure that he's safe. Peter has a suspicion about why the boy is so damn tired that he falls asleep over his body several times in a row. Things like sleeping in a house with his abuser, and worrying about where the next attack is going to come from.

The faeries have their bad sides, the werewolf knows, he knows to be careful about them and to always look for second meanings. But they protect children, innocent ones, and for this, Peter is very grateful.

The faerie realm is beautiful. And very weird. Peter recognizes this tree, there's a family or foxes that often comes there and he likes to play-chase them. But that's in the human realm. He can sort-of see it, when he squints with his head tilted sideways, but here, it's the same tree, but not the same scenery. There aren't any foxes in the roots. There is a plant, sleek and soft looking, with several bright colors. It reminds Peter of those dangerous, poisonous plants and animals, which attracts preys with their bright, interesting colors. Peter won't be touching it anytime soon.

Above it, there a 'bird', singing. It's been singing for hours on end, now. But it's as much bird as the sound it makes can be called singing. Which is to say, really not much. Peter calls it a bird, mostly because it can fly. But the overall shape is wrong, the colors are very wrongs, the head looks  _ nothing _ like a bird’s. Peter almost feels like he's in one of Lovecraft's stories, with beasts and worlds that make no sense whatsoever. He doesn't feel the horror like quality of Lovecraft's writings, but it still very weird, not to be able to really describe something in words that make sense, in some shape that everybody already knows.

Peter's boy snuffles and burrows in his fur. He looks down at him. Peter would never have thought that he would get attached to a child this way. It's weird and sudden. But there's no denying it, especially with how fierce his wolf feels when they think about the boy. There is no separating them now, or somebody is going to meet a wolf's teeth up close and personal.

It's difficult, to keep his wolf in check, actually. Usually Peter wouldn't deny it, as they are usually of the same mind. But this time, it concerns a human. Most of the time, the wolf has no interest in human matters. But here, his wolf would like to deal with the enemy the ways he usually does. Meaning dismemberment and death. Not something that would go unnoticed in the human world.

And Stiles might get sad, Peter thinks at it.

It does the job. The wolf part of his mind settles down, grumbling under his breath. It is aware enough to know that family means weird thing, even love in the face of pain.

A faerie flits by, sparing a quick glance at the wolf and the human boy lying there, but not stopping. Peter marvels at how he's apparently been accepted in the faerie realm, even though werewolves are usually looked down upon by pretty much every supernatural creature. Too much of human, too worried about fitting in the human world, not listening to their instinct enough, too busy with human matters. Hell, most werewolves can't even use magic, if they even believe that it exists, or heaven forbids, a wolf appearance. It's actually more of a myth than anything else that werewolves could be able to shift into full wolves. There are been noises about it here and there, but nobody knows how or why -Peter has a very good idea. It's quite clear how much wilder and more feral he is, than the rest of his pack. And he's the only one able to shift-. Peter's never told it to anyone. Except for Stiles, now. Because the others would wonder, would probably take it as a sign that he's dangerous and too wild -they would be right-. Hunters would probably want to hunt him for his fur.

And now, Peter is here, in the faerie realm, in his wolf form, with a human boy who can understand his human urges, but still fits so well in the faerie realm that they have taken him under their wings.

Peter is never letting that boy go.

A group of faeries and weird “animals” appears. This time, they come straight for the duo. Peter sits up a bit, but not too much. He doesn't want to wake up Stiles. The boy needs all the sleep.

"Food," one says, showing off the platter in their hands.

Within minutes, Peter is surrounded by half a dozen of trays and bowls and plates, with a variety of food. Nothing looks like anything he knows. There is food he can guess at -stuff that looks like poultry, stuff that looks like fruits, even a red meat look alike- but nothing fits. Wrong color, wrong shape, wrong everything. The red meat lookalike is bright purple, the poultry is green, the salad thing is a violent orange-red color. The only things that could pass are the fruits, and that's because fruits are usually colorful. But not square, he thinks, nudging a... something with his nose.

"Those are safe for you too to eat. He needs fuel for his body," one orders, while looking at Stiles. "Faerie healing mostly only works on humans by stimulating their own healing. We're too different to really heal them as we do ourselves. But his body is going into overdrive to catch up, with means sleep," he nods at the boy, "and food, lots of it," he nods at the platters.  

"Of course," Peter rumbles. It is so strange to speak human words, when he's stuck on four legs. "I'll wake him up."

"No need." One snaps his fingers and Stiles jerks up, already scowling.

"Dude! I told you not to do that! It feels so weird to go from asleep to wide awake within half a second!"

"Food," the faerie answers.

"Yeah, alright, food's good," the boy deigns to agree.

Stiles pushes back on his pillow, and then jerks back when he feels soft fur. "Oh, right," he breaths out, staring at Peter with big, round eyes. "Werewolf!" He cries out gleefully.

Peter snorts.

"Hey, don't laugh, I thought I'd been dreaming, I often have weird dreams here."

"One can understand why," Peter answers, looking meaningfully at the feast out of a fantasy world, spread out in front of them.

"Yeah. Those are really good, though. Especially the purple meat," Stiles cries out, "oh my god, yes, purple meat, I love that one, gimme!!"

Peter hooks a claw in that plate and tugs it toward the boy. "You seem surprised."

"Well, faeries aren't actually vegetarian, despite what every environment conscious human would like to make us believe, but this one is usually really rare. It's meat from some beast from halfway around the world, so when they get some, it's often taken straight to the elite."

"The Queen and King of faerie land, you mean."

"Queen and Queen, actually, for this session."

"The faerie land is governed by a couple of same sex people? Oh, what I wouldn't give for some of those homophobic assholes to know about that," Peter cackles gleefully. "Can you imagine Trump and co in a meeting with a couple of faerie Queens?"

"I'd rather not, they would quarter him before the day was done and we'd end up at war. Bad times, bad times."

"Well, the humans would only get what they deserve," Peter grouses, before sticking his nose into a big bowl of something that looks disgusting but smells amazing.

It's even better than he'd expected.

***

A good hour later, Peter feels like a beach ball.

He's lying on his side in their little clearing, and while he'd originally thought he would like to explore the realm, now all that he can think about is to lie down and die in peace. He's been full before, but human grown food always taste a bit off, no matter how much you clean or cook it, mostly from the stuff they use to grow it out. Most wolves don't care, too used to the taste. Peter is a classy asshole and likes his wolf to be happy too.

"I can't remember the last time I ate so much," Peter groans.

"I do all the time! Mom says it's a wonder I don't eat much at home but still grow up like a weed, but human food tastes weird, you know." Stiles' voice cracks halfway through, when he mentions his mom, but the boy powers through.

Peter is unreasonably proud.

"Come on, up."

'What?' Peter thinks. "What?" he says. "Are you nuts? I'm going to lie here and digest all that stuff of the next few hours."

"You'll have your food coma later, come on, you'll thank me."

And Peter gets up and follows the boy, because what else could he do but follow his pack-mate.

It's a slow process. Peter is so full that he moves like a terminally pregnant mare, and there are so many sights to see. But Stiles is persuading and keeps bugging the wolf, sometimes pushing his rump to get him moving.

They walk through the forest, through a few more clearings, through a place that looks like a faerie market. There are a  _ lot _ of faeries. They flit around and fly and screech and laugh and taunt each other. Peter slinks along the side, worried and a bit scared, though he won't say it.

Eventually, they get to a small brook. The river sings (literally, what the hell) over rocks and moss and... bones? Christ.

He stands at the side, staring down at the water rushing over its bed of bones. "What the hell, Stiles? No, but really?"

Stiles looks up from where he's been sipping some water. "What?"

Peter turns back, wishing he could raise just one eyebrow at the kid, in this form. "'What?' you ask? Are you kidding me? Bones, Stiles,  _ bones _ ."

"Oh." The kid looks down. "Yeah, I forgot. Don't worry, it's not dangerous."

"Bones!"

"Yeah, but, like, they can't throw it away at the human world, can they?"

No, they really can't. There are no animals with those weirdly spiral shaped bones, tapering in a large square. Peter can't actually imagine what that animal would look like. The spiral bones could maybe fit a worm, if they moved that way, and had actual spines in their bodies?

"What about burying the remains?" He's genuinely curious now. Why would the faeries first thought be to bleach the bones white and throw them in the stream?

"Ah, something about no weighting the dead? Or honoring them in a place clean and free, instead of dirt and scavengers and the weight of people and faeries and animal walking all over them for eternity." Stiles shrugs. "Bottom line, they clean everything and the bones are set to rest in the cool and clean water."

"Okay." Because why not, really. It even makes sense, a bit? "And why are we there anyway?"

"Drinking?" Stiles offers some water up, in his cupped hands. "You'll feel much better after drinking a bit. Also, the exercise helped to digest, didn't it?"

The sneaky little shit. The worst is that he's right. Peter harrumphs at him, whipping his tail in the boy's face. The boy lets out a loud peal of laughter and Peter smiles reluctantly as he leans down to drink from the brook. The water is cool and so clean; he hasn't tasted anything like this, ever. He ends up with his muzzle buried under water up to the eyes, said eyes closed in ecstasy. Peter kind of wishes that he hadn't eaten so much, so he would get to drink twice his weight in that delicious elixir.

"Slow down, White Fang," Stiles laughs.

His ears twitches, but he doesn't deign answering. It would mean taking his face out of the water (which is probably funny to watch. What kind of dog or wolf would put his nose under water to drink. But Peter couldn’t care less if he looks weird).

Stiles huffs and drinks some more at his side, before throwing himself against Peter's great body. Peter doesn't react. Strangely, no matter how much he drinks, no matter how much he ate earlier, he can still continue to drink. It's like inhaling delicious air, light and sharp and oh so clear. Like Peter has a space for food, and another for water. He takes his time now, to enjoy it as best as he can.

Stiles huffs a bit again, then sighs happily. He squirms up and clings to Peter's fur, putting a foot on his folded leg and testing Peter's reaction by leaning a bit. Peter lets him. He's werewolf which means stronger than humans, and in his wolf form, a full grown human would need to work really hard to hurt him, and even another werewolf would find it difficult. So this slip of a human boy as no hope to make him squeal, except maybe by pulling on his ears.

The wolf thinks a lot but says nothing, just holding his posture. Stiles wriggles and giggles and huffs, and eventually he's lying across Peter's back. The boy stretches hard then relaxes, boneless over the soft fur, trusting Peter to be careful.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Please, leave a review on your way out! <3<3


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